


Fractured

by Blink_Blue



Series: S3 Fics [15]
Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: 3x14, Angst, M/M, Suicidal Thoughts, episode coda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-29
Updated: 2017-03-29
Packaged: 2018-10-12 09:42:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10487856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blink_Blue/pseuds/Blink_Blue
Summary: 3x14 coda.





	

He sees it again and again in his mind. The bright, blinding headlights of the bus coming towards him. He still feels the rush of air as the bus speeds past, and he stumbles back with a gasp on wobbly feet and weak knees.

It’s not that he wants to die. He had never quite gotten _that_ close.

But sometimes he’s just too tired to live.

He’s scared he’ll get weak one day. And if he’s not careful, he’s going to kill himself.

The tremors in his body don’t cease the entire way home, and he’s left shaking uncontrollably, his body tense in ways it shouldn’t be after a long run.

The run was supposed to relax him–he just needed to get away for a while. And it was supposed to clear his mind. Instead, it seems to have left it in shambles.

It’s six miles home. Six miles to get the headlights out of his head. Six miles to work on his game face, and practice his lies over and over. To know them so well that he starts to believe them himself.

_(“You okay?”_

_“Yeah.”)_

Upon his return, Oliver follows him into the bathroom. He’s concerned, and it shows on his face. Oliver’s only trying to be helpful. “I really think you should tell them the truth. It could help–this is killing you, Connor!”

Oliver sees right through him.

Connor sighs heavily and looks up from the pile of sweaty clothes he’d thrown on the bathroom floor. What can he say? He could insist that he’s fine, say that telling the truth will help no one, and _really_ , he’s fine. He could say it over and over again like a broken record.

Instead, Connor leaps forward and swallows Oliver’s lips with enough force to bruise.

Oliver stumbles back in shock, but he catches Connor in his arms.

Connor doesn’t wait for Oliver to catch up. He’s biting, licking, moaning, and _breathing_ into Oliver’s mouth. He pulls at Oliver’s clothes while the other man finally catches on. At least _this_ familiar pattern isn’t one that scares him.

They fuck against the wall of the bathroom–the towel rod digs uncomfortably into his stomach as Oliver grunts and pants behind him, leaving finger shaped bruises on his hips.

He thinks he’s supposed to feel something. Because this is _Oliver_. This is Oliver inside him, Oliver sliding a hand down his stomach, digging his teeth into his shoulder…

It terrifies him how numb he feels.

His body aches from running too long and too far. And there’s another ache that’s more pleasant. But none of that distracts from the heavy emptiness weighing in his chest.

They both gasp breathlessly when it’s over.

Oliver’s pressed flush against his back. And Connor feels his face buried in his neck. He moves to lay his sweat soaked brow against the wall. He just needs a second to catch his breath.

Wordlessly, he brushes Oliver away and climbs into the shower. He pulls the curtain closed behind him, eyes unfocused on a spot of mildew in the corner of tub so he doesn’t have to see the bewildered look on Oliver’s face.  

_(“I think we should just give Connor some space.”)_

He thought he was good at hiding it. But they all see right through him. Not just Oliver. Michaela, Bonnie… Annalise.

He hates how easily Annalise punctures his defenses. His greatest fears put into words and brought to life. Almost like she knows him better than he knows himself. Shared life experiences maybe.

He had spent so long pretending to be okay. Pretending to feel when he feels nothing at all. Pretending he’s numb when he’s feeling too much. Pretending he doesn’t remember the sound of Wes’s ribs fracturing beneath his hands. Or the sight of him, motionless on the cold floor.

Dead.

It all comes back, everything that he thought he’d buried deep in the recesses of his mind. Long buried, and wishfully forgotten.

It all comes rushing back.

_(“You know what you need to do right now, you need to go and kill yourself. It’s the one good thing you’re going to do in your life. You’re going to go, and you’re going to kill yourself, Connor.”)_

Even from the next room he hears them. Hushed whispers and suspicious undertones, he hears them all.

“I need to know you’re not going to hurt yourself.”

Connor looks up at the sound of Oliver’s voice. The other man drops down next to him on the sofa.

“I told you about… that girl from my high school,” Oliver says softly. “The one who killed herself.”

Connor remembers the story. The girl who jumped off the roof of the gym during seventh period. Oliver had told him the story after Asher’s dad died.

“Anyway, I just–” Oliver breaks off with a ragged breath. “After what Laurel said, and the way you’ve been acting, I just need to know–”

“You didn’t even know her.”

Oliver blinks at him in confusion.

Connor shakes his head, eyes bright and focused. “She was just some girl you’d never spoken to in your life. She wasn’t your friend–you weren’t close.”

“Connor–”

“Some girl from your high school killed herself. We all have _stories_ , Ollie. Don’t act like you know anything about this!”

Oliver stares at him, mouth agape and eyes _hurt_. “Then talk to me, Connor! Tell me!” Oliver’s hands shake like he wants to reach out for him, but he keeps them still on his knees.

Connor looks away. He bites his lip and fights the tears building up in his eyes. Asher’s voice drifts over to them, something about ordering a pizza.

“I don’t want to end up like that,” Connor finally whispers. “I don’t want to jump off a building. I don’t want to jump in front of–” He stops before he says too much. “I don’t want to do that. I don’t want to die.”

It’s soft, but he thinks he hears Oliver let out a sigh of relief.

“I want to stop feeling like this. But I don’t know how.”

Oliver inches over and takes his hand in his own. “We’ll get through this, Connor. We’ll figure it out.”

Connor wonders where the other man gets his optimism from. Especially with the murder bomb–death bomb, dropped on him.

Oliver leans over and presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth. It should be sweet. Just the two of them, holding hands while the others bicker and argue in the next room over.

But it doesn’t feel sweet. Because he’s numb again, numb from the stress and the pain. Annalise’s words won’t leave him alone, and Laurel’s words echo in the back of his mind.

He doesn’t feel anything at all.

Oliver watches him quietly. His eyes catch every blank look, while his brow furrows in concern. Oliver’s thumb gently rubs soft circles against the inside of Connor’s wrist. He leans close and presses their heads together.

The sentiment is nice.

“Are you okay?” Oliver asks again.

Connor swallows. With all the ease that comes from practice, he replies. “Yeah.”

**Author's Note:**

> [x](http://winters-blue-children.tumblr.com)


End file.
